What the books don't tell you, the bastards, is what you're supposed to do when you've lost the baby that you've convinced yourself over the last 60 or so days you were going to have. You've picked out names, you've imagined laughing together, and you've even planned where you want the first family pictures to be taken. All of these things have been completed in your mind---only to be torn away by a picture on a monitor that doesn't show a heartbeat. Clichéd thoughts of life is fragile---life is uncertain--all of this **** falls on deaf ears, b/c frankly despite the fact that up until 10 minutes before this moment, you were a completely competent, college graduate that had been with their partner for almost 10 years, and bought your first house when you were 22 b/c someone told you that it wasn't possible at your age---all of which indicates that you're not only a focused, goal oriented person, but that once you've made your mind up about something there is no going back---written in stone with Moses own blessing; none of these traits matter now.

All of those things that made you (or what you thought about yourself) this rock solid person--with convictions, compassion, and love for just how damn beautifully blue the sky can be in April in the south--that all goes away. You're sitting, staring at a stranger, a woman with hair the color and texture of wheat, vulnerably naked from the waist down, and she's saying "Oh honey, this doesn't look good." They say there are several stages of accepting death---either knowing one's own is immanent or that of a loved one. Denial is the one I'm best at. "No, she must be kidding. Nothing is wrong with my baby. The machine is broke, that's someone else's picture, no no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO." And then you realize that the room looks too real to be a dream, and that this person who was going to love you without prejudice, that would be the only person to ever truly be yours, no longer exists.

The emotions - LOSS, TERROR, HYSTERIA, PANIC, HELPLESS, HOPELESS, DENIAL, FURY, RAGE, SUICIDAL---this one really for lack of any eloquent way of putting it--tripped me out. I never wanted to die--not even in high school when it was appropriate to be filled with angst and hate life, oh but I did. I thought maybe if we could just switch places, and he or she could be alive and I could be gone--I've lived a wonderful life, albeit short (27)--and it would have been worth it to me right then.

Truthfully--the emotion that scared me the most was relief. I was relieved that I could get pregnant, and I was relieved that we at least made it to 8 weeks, and god help me I was relieved when other women said they'd been through the same thing. And I remember being so disgusted with myself for being happy that I wasn't alone---when I wanted nothing but to be alone because it hurts as much today, 5 months later, as it did when I came home from the hospital. And when I talk about it with my friends I try so hard to be strong and sound insightful--like oh wow guys---I've learned so much about myself and life and I'm so different, but the truth is that I learned just how goddamn broken my heart can be and just how goddamn hurt I can be--and I've learned that try as I might, I carry it with me every day. And every time I see something horrible in the news about what parents do to their children, I try to stop myself but am still unable to not say "oh well, it makes perfect sense that they should have a child."

There are days when I feel so lost, I wonder if I'll ever find myself again. I find myself begging a god I don't believe in nor expect anything from to please help me find away out of this hole that I seem to fall in every 5 days or so.

It is this time, between 10:00 p.m. and 1 a.m. that I feel the loneliest. This is a sensation I’ve become more and more aware of as I’ve gotten older. I suppose it’s because the rest of the world is winding down, while I’m just waking up. There’s a strange emptiness in knowing that you’ve shown up late to the life party. The other guests are grabbing their coats, and you’re just settling down with your first drink. We’ve all experienced this at restaurants when we’ve arrived just as the kitchen is closing. Those ‘eat **** and die and while you’re at it **** off’ looks from the employees. Ironically, I get those looks from my cats---nocturnal by nature--- as if my human intrusion into their feline play renders the night unbearable. I mean imagine that. Something as innocuous as me sitting on the couch I paid for means that their night is ruined. Though, I guess this is true of most things in life. The mere presence of something we do not like makes life so much less comfortable.
On nights like this I want to smash glass, punch things, and drink heavily. I’m not sure why I turn to violence, maybe we all do when we’re really truly bored and alone. It’s not necessarily that I’m angry that I’m alone, because when I take a step back and think on it—anger is not the emotion I associate with it. I believe it’s that I want to break up the monotony that is the silence. Loneliness and silence are freak show Siamese twins. Silence is the more attractive of the two, but loneliness is the one that really motivates you. Loneliness affects all of your senses, and seeps under your skin. Silence is by nature fairly one dimensional. Silence however, allows the mind to run, explode, overflow, expand, and destroy itself. I think alcohol is a cure for this feeling. When you’re drunk, I mean good and drunk, your mind wanders, but let’s face it no one gives a **** about what they’re thinking, and by tomorrow who can remember?
I am a great admirer of solitary creatures. Loneliness does not exist when you’re used to being on your own---when it is in fact bred into you. Taking all of the mushy love bull**** out of life, imagine how much less complicated and distracting life would be if you could be alone. If being alone was actually embraced and valued, not looked upon as pathetic or something to fear? Think of all that we could accomplish if other human beings simply became something that we interacted with on an as needed basis (children, medical treatment, haircuts—you know, the important things in life). I’m not one of those who thinks we should not breed, or is a self-hating primate. No, no I actually feel that we have a great deal to offer the world. I’m simply saying that we could offer such things with limited interaction with others. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t inherently hate other people either, I just think that limiting our interactions would lessen the feelings of loneliness, hence suicide, questioning why we’re here, and in general hating our existence. See, if we’re not basing our happiness and how fulfilled we feel as creatures on others, then we become completely self sufficient. This eliminates any need to blame others for feeling inadequate, making us as individuals completely responsible for our happiness. This is something that I would greatly benefit from.